“Are you sure you don’t want dessert?” I ask at the end of dinner.
“I am so full I might sprout roots and a bunch of leaves, Joey,” Domitilla laughs at me. “I really want to taste something you made, but I'll just feel sick if I see another bit of food.”
“Fair enough,” I smile at the blonde girl.
“Why don’t you join me and a few friends on the Green Walk sometimes? This week, everyone’s busy, but I’ll come around and knock on your door or maybe just tell auntie about it. What do you say?”
“Sounds lovely,” I smile at the energetic girl. “I have visited a farm, but that’s about it. I have yet to get into the deeper parts of the Green Stretches.”
“They are gorgeous,” Domitilla says with a long exhale, “I wish my job was just staring at them all day, contemplating. Like a [Scholar] with their fancy observation skills.”
I see Agostina rolling her eyes, but I do understand where Domitilla is coming from. It would be a cool life, indeed. I mean, there’s a reason I never became a doctor. And from what she’s talking about—wait, let me check something.
“Do you ever dream about becoming a Nine Towers [Mage] or something? Like, do you want to try super hard to become an archmage?”
“World’s Tree Roots, no!” Domitilla laughs. “I love my life in Amorium. I just want a nice job and hang around town, you know? Why would I want to become an archmage? So many mages die while trying. If not even Aunt Marcella wanted to become one, how could I even try?”
The last thing is a bit jarring. It’s not the first time I’ve heard this kind of thinking, though. It’s tremendously… Italian. If there’s something from my American heritage that I love, it's that no one ever doubted me when I was dreaming big about baking. If anything, I’d seen people bash me for not exploiting my talent to the fullest, never the other way around. Italy… is an old country. The past is oftentimes treated like a monster that is impossible to overcome, and that has seeped deep into people’s minds. My cousin is a smart guy, but he doesn’t really have a real job. He probably has talent in spades for a variety of things. But guess what? He was never brought up to think like Americans. Italians don’t do debt—not even in terms of time. They live on savings, especially in terms of time. They never do something that could put them in a time debt as much as an American could spend ten years of their life doing something before suddenly switching careers. It’s just unthinkable for the average Italian to do something like that.
What Domitilla says resonates deeply with my understanding of my extended Italian family. They are smart, crafty even. Even without a degree, they could probably fare better than any business graduate I know—but they simply don’t try. They are not willing to put themselves in debt, money- or time-wise, whatever it should be. And if I can wear my psychology hat, I think that’s why they often say stuff like Domitilla.
“If not even Aunt Marcella wanted to become one, how could I even try?”
Maybe it’s different for us Americans, but someone would probably spit a piece of bacon from their nose if they heard you say that. People would instantly try to convince you of the actual opposite.
But what Domitilla said before that intrigued me.
“I like people who don’t try too hard, you know? And I mean in the best possible sense. I’ve known a bunch of people who lived thinking that money, fame, or status would completely change their life. So here, power, I suppose, in terms of levels, would be another thing to add to the equation. But what’s the purpose of having forty levels in something if you are not enjoying your life, right?”
Domitilla lights up the room with her smile.
Working hard is cool, sure. But so is spending your life among your loved ones and seeing the people you care about almost every single day. And I'll give it to Italians: while their GDP is a joke, they do have many more bonds with their family and friends than any other American.
But as I conjure these thoughts, I look at the massive sword hanging on the wall. It's so heavy that some teenagers would probably brag about bench-pressing it.
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A little flashback crosses my mind; specifically about the red sword that I saw in the Dragon Lady's cave. It was much more majestic than the one I'm looking at, and it clearly promised a life full of adventures. However, as I look at that piece of steel hanging on a boring wall, a voice at the back of my mind says something.
And it's not just a thought, but a strong feeling in my chest. Heroic quests are stupid and all, ok? But...
It would be pretty cool to swing a sword like that in a battle.
…
I borrowed some enchanting stuff from Agostina, and I was obviously faking it when she asked me if I had any idea what I was doing. She probably only gave it to me because I told her I wouldn’t be using it to enchant anything in the house. Also, it might turn out to be something absolutely useless.
Why?
Well, just look.
“Book, I was thinking about that First Cantrip, right? I wondered if you could broadly explain to me how enchanting works. I know you said I shan’t learn anything outside of the Cantrips, and I absolutely agree. But wouldn’t some Enchanting be considered a part of the whole Cantrip practice?”
The book slowly levitates in the air but remains closed.
I half-expect a bout of electricity before noticing that the bug is most likely bugging again.
In fact, when it opens, there’s already some ink materialized on it, but it’s not the usual font. It’s the weird font that appears when stuff gets weird.
Before I start reading, can we just recognize that this thing is a bit creepy? Doesn’t it feel like there’s someone inside the book taking over and writing stuff down?
Mmm.
Whatever.
Let's see what it says.
‘Enchanting, for the reductionist approach, is the process of imbuing an object with a spell matrix in order to give it specific magical properties. The chaotic nature of magic means that true Enchanting was born when the reductionist approach was applied to magical theory. Before that, enchanting saw barbaric practices as overcharging an object with so much Mana that the energy contained inside of it would start being corrosive. With the corrosive nature of raw Mana, or worse, elemental Mana, even the most powerful artifact would have been slowly whittled away by its enchantments. Empathetic magic was always inferior, but much more so if you ever needed to enchant an object. If anything, the reductionist approach created the discipline now known as Enchanting.’
‘It is rumored that the reductionist approach was invented by Dragons. Specifically, the Black Queen of Dragons. Who this title belongs to is a mystery to this day—her name is most likely lost forever. If what the ancient manuscripts report is true, the name would have been ‘she, whose fame and judgment are good.’ Now, another interesting factoid is that the Black part referred to the lesser-known Black Dragons. Who are Black Dragons? Black Dragons are the representation of peak physical strength among all creatures. No Hydra, not even the infinitely powerful Sziezais, could ever hope to match a Black Dragon on the same level as them. Not in physical strength and magical resistance, at least. But here’s where things get extremely curious… Black Dragons have a diminished aptitude for magic. And diminished, in a high-level confrontation, means non-existent. They rely on their incredible physicality and hone their body through Alchemical refinement and mysterious methods to become even stronger in the course of their life. Why, then, is the Black Queen of Dragons the one titled for the reductionist approach? It should have been a Golden Dragon. They represent the apotheosis of magic! But why a Black one?! Isn’t that preposterous?’
I re-read the two gigantic paragraphs two times before I am sure that the book is not actually replying to my answer but just rambling. Have I somehow infected the book with bad habits? I swear if I actually broke this thing…
“Huh, book, would you mind telling me more about how Enchanting works?”
The page ripples, and new ink appears on the right page.
‘Enchanting proper is born through the actualization of a spell matrix; such as the creation of a rune capable of replicating a spell matrix. This is done through conduits of power sculpted with different materials based on what the actual spell is supposed to be. Little known factoid, the [Regrowing Durability] enchantment, Tier 5, that many look after should be done with Light-Magic-attuned Mana Stones or any other powder that is derived from a Light-Magic-infused object. The reason is still unclear to this day.’
“I most definitely broke it…” I whisper to myself.
…
After reading a bunch of useless stuff, I finally managed to get the book to explain to me how enchanting works.
The conduits of power that the tome mentioned are parts of the final rune—wait; actually, they are the rune. Each conduit of power is like a line or a symbol that you can craft even yourself. You don’t need to have the actual rune as long as the enchantment has taken place. That’s, I guess, how people enchant objects. Also, doing that, as in not having the actual rune with an object, is ten times as hard. There is a whole different thing about runes being super complicated because you need them to leave a permanent mark of magic upon an object. And not only complicated, but you need extreme dexterity to put everything down with a brush before it solidifies.
Huh.
Wait.
Can I use a pastry bag for this?